


Et l'on n'y peut rien

by HistoireEternelle



Series: The songs that rhythm our life [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: AND RIGHTLY SO, Andrés is a moron, Angst, Everybody is fed up with that stupid song, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Martin deserves better, Song Lyrics, Sort Of, Suicide Attempt, but that's not how love works, french song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoireEternelle/pseuds/HistoireEternelle
Summary: After leaving Martín broken in the chapel, Andrés goes to France with Tatiana and hears a song that would change everything.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: The songs that rhythm our life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774768
Comments: 13
Kudos: 81





	Et l'on n'y peut rien

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to some "old" French music and that song came up and I couldn't get it out of my head. 
> 
> You can find the song here: [Et l'on n'y peut rien by Jean-Jacques Goldman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnISPShyMBM)
> 
> English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes you'll find.

"STOP!" he yelled, closing his eyes as he heard the shot go off followed by a loud thud and then a deafening silence. He couldn't find the courage to open his eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of Martín dead, his brains plastered to the walls of his beloved chapel, the white model of the Bank of Spain splattered with red. 

"Are you fucking crazy!?" Martín screamed and Andrés felt the anguish leave his chest and he could breathe again. Martín was alive.

Without a word, Andrés opened his eyes, crossed the room and, wrapping his arms tightly around Martín's body, he kissed him full on the lips. It was angry and violent, full of fear and hope. Different from the kiss they shared that fateful evening and the same all at once. Emotions were as high as that night, but this time it was Martín who wasn't responding. Breaking the kiss, Andrés looked into Martín's eyes and saw only anger and confusion. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Martín spat, pushing Andrés back violently. 

"I… I…" For once, Andrés didn't know what to say. "I made a mistake…" he finally breathed, lowering his eyes to his feet, not strong enough to hold Martín's stare. 

"You'll have to be a little bit more precise, Andrés. You made a shitload of mistakes. Which one are you referring to? Marrying Tatiana? Listening to your fucking brother? Kissing me? Being a coward? Leaving? Yelling when someone has a gun pressed to his head? Which one, Andrés?" Martín asked, anger and pain laced with each word.

"I…"

"You what!?" Martín finally lost it and started yelling. "Who do you think you are, Andrés? Who do you think you are for coming back here after what you've done to me? Do you think that because you're the great Andrés de Fonollosa, you have rights to come back here and what? Continue as if nothing ever happened? As if you didn't break me? As if you didn't kiss me back and then left? No, Andrés. No." Martín sent a disgusted look to Andrés before leaving him frozen in the middle of the room.

When he heard a door bang down the corridor, Andrés closed his eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. He had messed up and now he had lost his best friend on top of his soulmate.

OoO

It had taken something as stupid as a jig to break him and fill his heart full of hope at the same time. They had been in France when it happened. They were staying in a beautiful house near Bordeaux when he heard it for the first time on the radio and nothing had been the same ever since.

The lively music was streaming from the radio resting on the window ledge and Andrés frowned. He knew french people were weird, but a jig? Really? Curious, Andrés started to listen.

_  
Comme un fil entre l'autre et l'un  
_ _Invisible, il pose ses liens  
_ _Dans les méandres des inconscients  
_ _Il se promène impunément_

  
He didn't know why, but Martín's face appeared in front of his eyes when he heard the lyrics. In his mind, Martín was full of life and smiling, his eyes sparkling with joy and mischief and he was looking at Andrés. Of course he was looking at him. No matter when Andrés would look, Martín's eyes were always on him. Andrés felt the lyrics pull at his heart and not sure he could bear the rest of the song, he left the table he was sharing with his lovely wife and turned the radio off.

"Is everything ok?" Tatiana asked, frowning. 

"Yes. I just need a little bit of time alone, if you don't mind, love," he replied, already closing the back door behind him, lost in thought.

OoO

The second time he heard it, they were in a restaurant facing _le Bassin d'Arcachon_ and he felt fear close on his heart.

"Of course it had to be a hit," he mumbled under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, love," he forced a smile, trying to ignore the song. But of course it was impossible.

_  
Et tout un peu tremble et le reste s'éteint  
_ _Juste dans nos ventres un noeud, une faim  
_ _Il fait roi l'esclave et peut damner les saints  
_ _L'honnête ou le sage et l'on n'y peut rien_

  
He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to see Martín. Take him in his arms and thread his fingers into his hair. He wanted his soulmate back. But he knew it was impossible. He had destroyed his only chance by leaving Martín broken leaning against the chapel wall, tears in his eyes. He had been a coward and he knew it.

They had been kings. Together they'd been at the top of the world. Running down crowded streets, their pockets full of diamonds, laughter filling their ears. But now he felt like a slave. Slave to his dark thoughts. Slave to his desire.

But even though he knew he had lost his chance, he could feel that need, that hunger in the pit of his stomach. Hunger his wife couldn't satiate. 

"Let's have a walk," he said suddenly, getting up to settle the bill, leaving a puzzled Tatiana to follow him. 

OoO

He started to listen to the song. All day long the song was playing. Either on the radio or on his newly acquired iPod. He couldn't stop listening. 

_  
Et l'on résiste, on bâtit des murs  
__Des bonheurs, photos bien rangées  
__Terroriste, il fend les armures  
__En un instant, tout est balayé_

  
He had read somewhere that if you see something often enough —no matter how gruesome— you become desensitized after a while, and he hoped it would be the same with the song. He had built some strong walls around his heart a long time ago, learnt to compartmentalize, but now he could feel them cracking. He should be happy with Tatiana, he had married her after all, but she wasn't enough. He had thought… Oh, how stupid he had been. He felt another crack weakening his armor. He had to stop thinking about Martín. He had to. But he realized that he couldn't.

_  
Tu rampes et tu guettes et tu mendies des mots  
_ _Tu lis ses poètes, aimes ses tableaux  
_ _Et tu cherches à le croiser, t'as 15 ans soudain  
_ _Tout change de base et l'on n'y peut rien_

  
He could still remember the first time they saw each other. So young and so full of life. He had felt it as soon as he had crossed Martín's eyes on the other side of the crowded bar. They had been like the pieces of a puzzle, so different but fitting perfectly all the same. Of course Martín had been a clever little thing at the time. His beautiful _ingeniero._ But so ignorant when it came to arts and the fineries of life, and Andrés had made his life mission to educate him. And of course Martín had been a model student. Every time Andrés would mention a painter or a poet, he would find a book about them in Martín's hand a few days later. He knew these forms of art weren't something the man would understand, but for Andrés, Martín would do whatever it took to make him happy. And days after days, poet after painter after sculptor, Martín had been able to understand a little bit more of how Andrés saw the world.

And of course it had also been the other way around. Andrés had learnt so much from Martín. He wasn't as good as the engineer, but after so many years listening to the enthusiastic chatter of his friend, he could tell where the weakest point of a building was and what it would take to break in with a single glance. He had learnt about alarms too. And their heists had been masterpieces. Because Martín was a genius and Andrés was an artist. The two sides of the same coin. Complementary.

_  
Il s'invite quand on l'attend pas  
_ _Quand on y croit, il s'enfuit déjà  
_ _Frère qui un jour y goûta  
_ _Jamais plus tu ne guériras_

  
It had hit him like a brick to the face. The day he had realized that Martín felt more for him than friendship. At first he hadn't known how to react. He loved women and Martín was his best friend and he didn't want to lose him, but he knew deep down that he couldn't give him what he wanted. And it broke his heart a little at the thought of those unrequited feelings. 

But years passed by with Martín by his side, going through his weddings without complaint. Maybe a little too drunk each time, but still here with him and Andrés had thought it was ok to be selfish. He had started to think of him as his soulmate. A platonic one, but his soulmate nonetheless. And when Sergio opened his big mouth and spoiled everything by voicing what had been left unsaid for so many years, Andrés had had to face the truth. He had known he would have to act on his brother's words or Sergio would become suspicious. 

So he had gone to Martín, the cracks in his heart expending with each step he took. He kept telling himself that it would be for the best. He was dying after all. He only had a few years left and he couldn't impose that on Martín. His _ingeniero_ deserved so much more than a few years, he deserved lifetimes of worship and Andrés couldn't give him that. So he did what he excelled at. He compartmentalized and broke Martín. His words had been hurtful on purpose. But of course it hadn't been that easy. Of course Martín had fought back. 

He could still see the look in his eyes, the feelings written on his face when he had closed the distance between them, his fingertips slowly caressing down Andrés' face. And his lips. Oh his lips. He hadn't expected that move and it had taken him by surprise, finally shattering his last defenses and making him realize what he should have known for so long. The next thing he knew, he was walking Martín back against the wall, his mouth devouring his partner's and at that moment, he felt whole for the first time in his life. He was addicted to the sounds leaving Martín's throat, how his fingers dug into his hips, pulling him even closer.

A slight tremor in his hand was what took him out of the bliss that was Martín's mouth and he knew he had to take a step back now and finish what he had come to do. He had to break Martín's heart and his own at the same time.

_  
Il nous laisse vide et plus mort que vivant  
_ _C'est lui qui décide, on ne fait que semblant  
_ _Lui, choisit ses tours et ses va et ses vient_

  
Walking out of that room had been the hardest thing Andrés had to do in his entire life. He felt empty, as if pieces of himself were missing and he knew that he couldn't afford to look back at the expression of utter betrayal he knew was written all over Martín's face or he wouldn't have the strength to leave. So he had walked out of the room, leaving the man he finally realized he was hopelessly in love with behind.

Because of course it had been love. From the beginning and Andrés had been a moron not to recognize it as what it was. But as the song said:

_  
Ainsi fait l'amour et l'on n'y peut rien_

OoO

Andrés looked at his sketch book and blinked. The song was still playing in his ears through the headphone—because Tatiana was fed up with it — and he studied the drawing on the page. Martín's expression was heartbreaking. It was his memories of the last time he'd seen him, cheeks flushed with arousal but his eyes full of tears, betrayal and hurt. And it wasn't the way he wanted to remember the love of his life. Sergio be damned! His illness be damned! He had to see Martín.

  
"What are you doing?" Tatiana asked when Andrés walked out of the bedroom, his suitcase in hand.

"I'm going back to Italy," he replied, already walking to the door.

"And what about me?" she demanded with a mix of surprise and anger.

"You'll get the divorce papers in less than a week. You can stay here, the house is paid for for another month."

  
With those words, he closed the door behind him and took the first plane to Florence and then a taxi to the monastery. 

He was so happy to be back that he didn't think about what he would find there or how Martín would welcome him. The only thing in his mind was that he HAD to see Martín. He had to apologize and tell him how much he loved him. He was ready to crawl on his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to. 

What he wasn't ready for was the sight of Martín, in their chapel, a gun against his head.

Against his better judgement, he did the stupidest thing he could have done in that situation. He yelled. "STOP!" and everything had gone down from that point onwards. And now, he was standing alone in the room turned cold as soon as Martín had left, his heart hammering against his ribs and tears prickling at his eyes.

OoO

"Will you stop with that song!" Martín finally snapped.

It's been a week since Andrés came back and a week since Martín had been avoiding the other man. He was basically hiding in his room while Andrés had free reign over their part of the monastery. Having seen him once on his way to the kitchen, Martín knew Andrés had been painting in the chapel. And even without the visual confirmation, he would have known. Andrés always played music when creating something new. But it usually was more tasteful than what had been blaring through the corridors of their home for a week. And Martín was fed up. He could manage Andrés love of classical and lyrical music, even the odd pop song, but a jig? A french one? No way. 

Of course he understood the message perfectly well. Love was insidious. It would spin threads between two people. It would push them to be fools, destroy their defenses and change everything, and you couldn't do anything about it. Love was like that. He couldn't help but like the metaphor. It was the perfect description of his relationship with Andrés. But a jig? Nonstop for a week? No.

"Why should I?" Andrés asked, turning to look at Martín. 

"Because I get it, okay? I know what you're trying to say and I can't listen to that stupid song any longer. I get it, Andrés." Martín sighed exhausted by the war he had been fighting with himself. He had been in love with Andrés for ages. He had spent years forgiving him for his weddings, for leaving him each time he found the new love of his life — the One. And he knew deep down that this time wouldn't be any different. He was the perfectly trained dog, waiting patiently for his master to come back. Pathetic, really, but he couldn't help it.

He saw a new light shine in Andrés' eyes at his words. The small lopsided smile he loved so much graced Andrés' lips when he went to turn the music off. After a week of almost constant music, silence blissfully fell on the monastery and Martín felt his ears pop at the sudden change.

"Thank you."

"Are you ready to talk?" Andrés asked, his voice more insecure than Martín had ever heard it.

"Yes," he replied, settling on the worn out sofa in the middle of the room, waiting for Andrés to start talking.

He watched the man go to the small bar they always kept handy and pour a generous dose of whisky. Martín shook his head at the silent question Andrés' raised eyebrow was asking. No, he didn't want a drink. He had spent the two weeks after Andrés had left drunk out of his mind and it had driven him to end up with a gun pressed to his head. He would never be that hopeless ever again, he vowed.

Glass in hand, Andrés came to join him and took a large gulp of his drink before facing Martín.

"I'm sick," Andrés said without any preamble and Martín thought that maybe, alcohol would have been a good idea after all. "I have my mother's disease," Andrés continued. "The doctors gave me two years."

Even if he was facing Martín, his head was lowered, his eyes on his fingers playing nervously on the rim of his glass. He started when he felt Martín's palm cup his cheek and raise his head so their eyes could meet. Martín's eyes were full of unshed tears.

"That's why you left, then?" Martín asked with surprising gentleness. "That's the only explanation for your behaviour?"

"No,” Andrés breathed. "Of course not. You were right, I'm a coward. When you kissed me… I got scared. I never felt things like that before. I realized… But then I didn't want you to see me like that. To see me die slowly and painfully. You're way too precious to me. You deserve so much more than I could ever offer." Andrés turned his eyes to the side, breaking the link between them and swallowed the sob that was trying to push its way up his throat. 

"On top of being a coward, you're a moron," Martín laughed wetly. "What do you know about what I might deserve? Why did you think living without you would be better than a few years being loved by you?" He choked on the words, emotions closing his throat at the tears he could see in Andrés' eyes. He had never seen the man so helpless, so broken before. "Come here," he breathed.

His hand still on Andrés' cheek, Martín pulled him closer until he could brush his lips against Andrés' in a feathery kiss.

"Do you forgive me?" Andres asked, barely a whisper against his lips.

"Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference? I have been in love with you for years, Andrés," Martín laughed, pulling away to make sure Andrés would see in his eyes how stupid he thought he was being. "We do the Mint heist and with the money, we find a cure for you and then the Bank of Spain," Martín added, his forehead pressed to Andrés'.

"I love you," Andrés breathed before crashing his lips against Martín's in a messy kiss full of tongue and teeth, pushing him back against the cushions, his body covering Martín’s.

He would make sure that Andrés would stay here _—_ by his side for the rest of his life. And together, they would melt gold. _Together_ . 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Bonus point if you find the Doctor Who quote in the fic ;)
> 
> If you want to talk, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://histoireeternelle.tumblr.com/)


End file.
